


be the wave that I am

by selinameh



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-11-28 15:47:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11421150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selinameh/pseuds/selinameh
Summary: Then he recognised it, the voice from a life that had sailed past him a long time ago.





	be the wave that I am

**Author's Note:**

> just had to write something equal to flint going to prom drop dead gorgeous after being bullied in high school. his fellow navy pals were such shits and deserve to be punched in the face. which flint already did but
> 
> oh, also this is set somewhere between seasons 2 and 3 because that's apparently the only stretch of time i can write about and the title's from fiona apple's "container"

There wasn’t much Silver could do when Flint forcefully shoved him against the washed-out wall of the captain’s cabin. Not that Silver would have even wanted to do anything but stand there, receiving Flint’s face with his calloused hands and kissing the man like he had done so many times before. Silver tried to pull Flint closer, wanting to feel the warm body against his own, blurring the boundaries that yet continued to exist between them. However, the captain hesitated yet again and kept their bodies clinically apart.

The kiss was haste, just an action Flint tended to do when the tension between them got too much.

“I won’t bite”, Silver said, eyes gleaming, trying to coax the other man closer. The amount of times he’d tried to engage the captain into something more than a desperate kiss here and there, only to be turned down, should have discouraged him by now. Silver had always liked to defy the odds.

“Only because I won’t let you”, Flint sighed and took a couple steps back. Silver, in his state of frustration, let his head thud against the wall. The pirate captain turned to look at him, a slight exasperation grazing his features, brows furrowed. Neither of them thought for a second that these kisses were enough, but Flint clung to the distance between them like a lifeline. As if allowing Silver any closer would have been both of their end. Silver, on his part, was of the mind that who could know for certain unless you tried first.

“Don’t”, Flint said as he turned around and sat behind his table.

“Why do you treat this like it’s something dangerous and contagious, to be kept far aw-“

Silver didn’t get to continue as there was a knock on the door. He shut his mouth and gave Flint a cold look, indicating he was nowhere near done yet. Flint found himself praying for a storm to whisk him away from Silver's grasp. He did need any help he could get, unable to resist the man himself.

Flint shouted at the door, telling whoever was standing behind it to come in and tell their business. Silver didn’t move from his place against the wall, standing where Flint had left him. Billy walked in, wet from the coastal rain, wiping stray droplets from his face frowning all the while.

“DeGroot’s found a place for us to anchor.”

Flint nodded, not saying anything.

“I think anchoring anywhere in these water is a mistake”, Billy started, but then he saw the look of irritation on Flint’s face, “But you didn’t ask that. Think this is as good a place as any for now, the rain’s offering us coverage and we’re far away from any currents.”

“As long as the wind’s tame enough for us to take a longboat to the port, nothing else matters. Set the anchor and furl the sails, we’re going to stay here ‘til first light”, Flint waved his hand, indicating that the conversation was over. Billy seemed like he still had few words he wished to say, but decided against it and left the cabin.

“Stop staring at me like I have killed your puppy, Silver. Say what you have to say and leave, we have a busy night ahead of us”, Flint muttered to the map spread out in front of him.

Silver decided to leave his place by the wall, his metal boot thudding on the wooden floor of the cabin.

“Forgetting the whole shoving me against the wall business, this plan of yours is leaves a lot to be desired”, Silver made his way to the table and sat on the windowsill, facing Flint’s back. “We are a wanted crew yet you think there’s nothing amiss in us strutting around in a fucking English port.”

“There’s nothing to be said about me shoving you to a wall that we haven’t already discussed”, Flint refused to turn around and face Silver, “And Cockburn Town is very small and rarely attracts the Queen’s forces in great numbers. We’ll moor in on our longboat in the cover of darkness, get the schedules and be on our merry way.”

Silver, in the mood to coax a reaction out of Flint, rose up with a little difficulty and proceeded to lay his hand on the man’s shoulder. Flint’s reaction was instant, as he tried to twist away from under Silver’s searing touch, to no avail. Silver, forever the opportunist, pushed himself in front of the captain, pinning himself effectively between the man and the desk.

“You’re asking for trouble”, Flint sounded distracted.

“As if that’s anything new to either of us”, Silver said, softly, letting his hand graze along Flint’s jawline. Flint could try dodging his affections all he wanted, but that didn’t mean Silver wasn’t going to try twice as hard to make the gestures land. He had always been rather adamant about his pursuits.

For a second it looked like Flint was about to cave in, but then someone on the quarterdeck dropped something rather heavy. Before Flint had time to shrink to himself, Silver bent down and bit the man's bottom lip. He hoped it stung.

Flint batted Silver off like he was a mere fly and Silver flashed him a grin.

“I’ll get you yet.”

Flint could only roll his eyes.

 

It was not a surprise to anyone that Silver tried to force his way onto the longboat. Flint had protested, as was his wont, and today he prevailed even though Silver was still cross with him and inclined to make his life difficult. Good thing Flint had a lot of experience of this by now and he had learned to navigate Silver’s dangerous moods.

Flint took Dooley with him, as the retrieval of the naval schedules was to be discrete. He could trust the man to listen to his words and remain silent when the time called for it. While the Turks and Caicos Islands were not among the most-used routes, Cockburn Town still posed a great risk that was not to be taken lightly. Flint had credible sources stating that an admiral was residing on the Island due to its low profile, and the said admiral was holding a book containing schedules and routes for all the merchant ships sailing under the crown. If Flint managed to get his hands on the book, the Walrus crew would be forever indented to him, or at least until they ran out of prizes to hunt. Coming in to the possession of the schedule would provide them with more ships they could possibly hope to hunt for, as well as relatively low risks.

They moored without any complications, and Flint covered their boat with Dooley’s help, making it look as inconspicuous as possible. Happy with their handiwork, Flint gestured Dooley to follow him deeper into the town. Their sources, although credible, were not detailed enough to point the exact location of the admiral. Flint wasn’t too worried.

Cockburn Town was relatively small when compared to Nassau, and the eternal source of amusement for sailors due to its unfortunate name. There were multiple jokes about men arriving into Cockburn Town, enjoying its carnal delights and catching something along the way. While Flint had visited the town couple times, he could not confirm the stories either way.

Since they lacked directions, Flint decided to enter the first establishment that they came across and see if he could hear anything interesting. Regretfully their mission was time sensitive, since keeping the Walrus anchored so close to an English town in broad daylight would cause significant troubles. Hence, Flint had to find some morsels of information and fast.

That’s how Flint found himself entering a small shop, leaving Dooley outside, hidden in the shadows. The captain looked around the dimly lit room; the shop seemed to be selling all sorts of things from writing utensils to simple wood working equipment and clearly forged paintings. To have something to do, Flint decided to go through an unimpressively small pile of books piled in one corner. It was a peculiar feeling, going through unfamiliar titles without any intention of buying them. Acquiring books had lost its shine after Miranda had been taken from him. Flint forced himself to think of something else, as thinking of Miranda was till too painful. There would be a time for him to sort through these emotions, but that was not today.

The shop was empty given the late hour, but Flint still found himself alert, ready to leave when the moment called for it. Yet the town was calm and the shop stayed empty. When it became clear there would be no one else to talk to except for the shopkeeper, Flint made his way to the counter. There was always a sense of disease when communicating with strangers, not knowing whether they knew the stories of Captain Flint and his fearsome crew well enough to recognize him. Thankfully, it seemed like this man standing behind the counter did not know who he was talking to. Not everyone knew what Captain Flint looked like, but the tales of him and the crew had spread wide enough to cause trouble more often than not.

As Flint was handing the coins to the man, to purchase a small notebook for appearances’ sake, the door to the shop opened. Flint was struck with a particular sense of foreboding, waiting for the customers to make themselves known.

Then he recognised it, the voice from a life that had sailed past him a long time ago.

“I do so dislike these smaller towns”, the voice echoed in the small shop, “They are remarkably insignificant compared to London.”

The shopkeeper was no longer sparing any attention to Flint, which was fortunate since the captain felt his body involuntarily shuddering at the recognition. A feeling, not wholly unlike fear, was making blood rush to his ears.

“With all due respect, Admiral Pickram, I still have the brigantine to supply tonight.”

“Ah, well, be on your way, my good man. I’ll find my way around here, it is so very quaint after all.”

These words were followed by some steps and the opening and closing of the door, as the other man left the shop. Flint wished to do the same, but without drawing any attention to himself were it possible. He cursed his luck. Of course the admiral he was hunting after would be someone he knew and wanted to avoid.

Flint curtly nodded to the shopkeeper, then the captain turned around, risking a quick glance to the remaining man. So Pickram had become an admiral, who would have thought. Then again, Navy did seem to favour selfish pigs, so maybe it could have been predicted after all. And who was to say the man had gotten this position by himself. Pickram, as far as Flint remembered, had always had family in the Navy, all of whom could have offered a helping hand.

Admiral Pickram had gained weight during the span of ten years, and Flint guessed it had something to do with the cosy position and all the perks that came with it. To think that Flint himself might have served alongside the man, had he not left London, or done any of the things people now associated with the name Captain Flint. Although, knowing Navy as well as he did, Flint probably would have ended up serving below Pickram, cleaning after the man’s messes.

Flint was so close to leaving the shop unnoticed, but then the cashier shouted after him, telling him that he’d forgotten his change. Flint grumbled, saying it was meant to be a tip and then he dashed towards the door. Maybe there was still a chance that Pickram had not recognised him; his haircut and clothing were vastly different from when the two of them last met.

“McGraw? James McGraw, is that you?”

Flint stopped near the doorway, turning to look at Pickram who was hurrying to his side.

“It has been such a long time since we last met, I almost didn’t recognise you!” Pickram exclaimed, looking perturbed yet oddly delighted. It unsettled Flint, not knowing what the man had in mind.

“Lieutenant, it’s good to see you too”, Flint answered, forcing his face to adopt a smile.

“It’s actually Admiral, nowadays.”

“Well, congratulations.”

“And what is James McGraw doing on the Turks and Caicos Islands? Didn’t think I’d see you on English soil after what happened with the Hamiltons”, Pickram said, savouring all the words, staring at Flint with mock empathy.

Of course the old shit was still just as big of a pain in the ass as before.

“I captain a small merchant ship”, Flint elaborated, going for the easiest lie. It’s close enough to his actual profession to make it work if worse came to be.

Pickram opened the door and stepped outside, motioning Flint to join him. Flint had half the mind to refuse, to claim he was not done yet in the shop, dreading Dooley’s reaction to seeing him conversing with an English Admiral. Possibly the same admiral they had come to steal from. There weren’t many good reasons to explain why he was in friendly terms with the enemy.

In the end Flint followed the admiral and found himself in the lit up streets of Cockburn Town once more. Pickram was talking to him idly, explaining something or other about the Navy’s situation, something that could have proven to be quite valuable information had Flint been paying attention. Instead he was looking around, trying to spot Dooley where he’d left him, to signal things were fine.

Knowing where to look, Flint spotted Dooley quite fast. The man looked scared, staring between the captain and the admiral, clearly not knowing what to do. He was far enough to not hear them, and whether that made the situation better or worse, Flint could not be certain. It was at that moment that Pickram landed his hand on Flint’s shoulder, pushing him towards the edge of the town, talking something about offering Flint a drink for old times’ sake. Dooley reacted as badly as Flint predicted, and ran off towards the shore.

He was going to go to the Walrus and tell Silver that Flint was being very friendly with their intended mark. That would not look good, not in the eyes of Silver nor in the eyes of the crew. Flint’s position as a captain was precarious enough without everyone thinking he was in cahoots with the Navy.

Shit.

 

Silver stared towards the direction of the town, trying to will its lights into existence. The rain, however, was obstructing his view and the only thing he could see was just the grey frothy sea stretching out all around him. He was still mad at Flint for not taking him along, but leaving him stranded here on the ship. Silver had healed a lot during the last couple of months, and he was already quite adept with his metal boot, getting more used to it as time passed. That wasn’t enough for Flint though, was it.

Swallowing down the bitterness residing in his throat, Silver turned around and marched off to see if he could be of any help to the crew. There wasn’t much he could help with these days, the sodden leg dragging him down, but Silver was forever the opportunist. He hated feeling useless, when the rest of the crew was working hard around the clock. Sure, he was valuable when it came to relying the news between the captain and the crew, but he found himself missing the actual physical work.

“They’re back!”

Silver ran to the rail, staring intently at the moving shadow that was progressively getting closer. It had been roughly an hour since Flint and Dooley had set off, therefore it was slightly alarming that they would be back so fast. Maybe Silver was just projecting his own murky feelings and things had gone well.

However, as it became clear that it was only Dooley on the boat, Silver’s suspicions intensified.

“Where’s Captain?” Silver asked as soon as Dooley boarded the ship, not giving the man any time to rest.

“He- He got captured by the English”, Dooley was panting, “Captain went to a shop to get some information, and before I could warn him, the damned admiral was marching in like the prick owned the place!”

“Captain was captured?” Billy came to Silver’s side.

“Aye, that’s what I said, didn’t I?”

“And instead of helping the man, you came here?” Silver inquired, aware of just how angry he sounded.

“It’s the bloody English! No way I could’ve gone after them meself! I rowed here as fast as I could to get yous to help me.” Dooley was flustered.

Silver’s brain was running fast, coming up with different possibilities, each more horrifying than the last. Flint was out there, alone in some English encampment. It didn’t take long for the quartermaster to jump in to the longboat, dragging Billy along with him. Before they knew it, the two of them were rowing back towards the shore. Silver had left DeGroot in charge, with instructions to wait for as long as it took for them to return, the promise of a prize keeping the men in check.

 

Pickram had taken Flint to his room, located in the only inn in town.

There Pickram now was, standing near his table, pouring drinks for both of them. Flint’s hand was hovering over the cutlass hidden beneath his coat, entertaining the idea of just sinking it into the other man’s back. The man surely deserved it, that and much more.

Flint didn’t get a chance to act on his fantasies, because then Pickram turned around and handed Flint his drink.

“I’m afraid it’s only rum, that seemingly being the only drink worth consuming here”, Pickram sipped his drink, “But surely you are used to it, fraternizing with these sailors.”

Flint used the drink in his hands as an excuse not to say anything, just drinking it and letting it calm his nerves. He was feeling on edge, not knowing what the man in front of him was planning. Pickram had always been an obtuse man, something which could prove out to be very fortunate for Flint, but at the same time the man also enjoyed other people’s misfortune, so really it was a game of chance at this point.

“You’re a merchant? Surely you must find the work boring after what you had in England?” Pickram asked. It was a talent to turn any line into such blatant mockery. Flint found himself not missing the English society in the least. He went on to think how he could've bothered with them in the first place, but that only managed to bring Thomas and Miranda to the forefront of his mind. He abandoned the train of thought immediately.

“I actually do find it intriguing. Navigating the sea does pose its own challenges”, Flint tried to be as neutral as he could in the face of such an ass. 

“I suppose there is something charming in such a quaint lifestyle- It must remind you of your roots, does it not?”

Flint had not laid his eyes on Pickram for a decade, yet it seemed like nothing had changed. The admiral was still the same repugnant lieutenant who had proved time after time to not be worth of Flint’s attention.

“Say, McGraw, are you still in contact with the Hamilton woman?” Pickram asked inconspicuously.

Flint saw red.

“We departed quite soon after leaving, unfortunately”, Flint grumbled, trying his best to maintain his composure. He was not about to give Pickram any sort of satisfaction that came from riling a reaction out of Flint, something the man was clearly aiming for. In that brief moment Flint found himself missing Silver and his smart mouth. The man had the ability to insult people without them knowing.

“Then you must not have heard of what has befallen the good lady-“ Pickram continued, but he was interrupted not a moment too soon, when a man barged through the door.

“Admiral, sir, your help is required”, the man said quickly and backed down to the hallway as fast as he had entered.

Pickram let out an annoyed huff, downing the rest of his drink in one big gulp.

“It looks like I need to leave for a moment. However, I do hope you’ll stay here for the time being. It is not often a man gets the chance to catch up with old friends.”

There was an eerie tone to Pickram’s voice as he approached Flint. Unfortunately the captain realized too late what was about to befall him, as Pickram smashed the now empty glass to the back of his head. 

 

Flint was dragged awake by a blinding headache. That and the cold water thrown his way. Flint tried to take an ill-timed breath of fresh air, only to inhale a lungful of water. He sputtered and coughed, trying to get his bearings, blinking away the salty water from his eyes. He had been propped to lean against the chair he had been sitting on earlier, in the middle of the room.

“Welcome back, McGraw”, there was a mocking voice above him. It was Pickram’s intolerable face, staring down on him in mocking empathy.

Flint spat towards the good admiral’s feet and was rewarded with a fist to his stomach. Another set of coughing rattled his entire body, and as he tried to drag his hands to shield his abdomen, Flint discovered them being tied behind his back, radically limiting his movements.

“It came to me that I never truly got to express how I felt about you, and decided to take care of it post haste”, Pickram said, a nasty grin deforming his face. Flint didn’t react, having realized quite early on that when dealing with big egos like Pickram’s, it was best to let them lead.

“What’s better moment than now”, the man continued, aiming a pointed kick towards Flint’s ribs. The pain was really something else, almost splitting Flint in half, but the captain endured it with a neutral face. He absolutely refused to allow Pickram any sort of enjoyment for coaxing noises out of him.

However, the restricted arms messed up with his balance and Flint fell to his side. His left shoulder did not appreciate it, nor did his abdomen exactly welcome another assault. He was left gasping for air as the man retreated and went back to the table. The bottle of rum was where Pickram had left it, but since his glass now lied shattered on the floor next to Flint, the admiral took a swig straight from the bottle.

“I didn’t get to finish my little story about Mrs. Hamilton, did I?” Pickram wondered out loud and put the bottle back on the table.

Flint was still lying on his side, and now that he had time to feel out his body, he could tell something warm and sticky was flowing down the nape of his neck. It didn’t take too long for him to guess what it could be.

“Lady Hamilton has, regretfully, been killed”, Pickram said not sounding remorseful in the least, “And it must be mentioned that this happened due to the rather poor company she kept.

“See, she was involved with pirates. Can you imagine the irony of it, as her late husband tried to pardon the monsters.”

Flint had never wanted to kill another man as much as he did at that moment, pure hatred coursing through his veins rapid like fire. This man in front of him had no right to talk about any of this, yet he did and quite gleefully at that. Thomas and Miranda were so much better than this man could ever hope to be, and he was still dragging their names through mud, abusing everything Flint had ever hold dear.

“It all happened during Captain Flint’s raid on Charles Town—Surely you must have heard of that?”

Oh, Flint wanted to tell the man just how acquainted he was with the events, but then the door burst open a second time that day, stopping their conversation in its tracks.

Flint’s back was towards the door, but he expected another one of Pickram’s men having come through at another inopportune moment. However, the look on the admiral’s face told a different story.

“Captain!”

It was Silver’s voice that reached his ear, and Flint wanted to turn around to make sure, but he was unable to do so. The distinct sound of Silver’s metal boot hitting the floor echoed in the room as the man practically ran to Flint, falling on his knees beside his body. There was another pair of steps, equally fast, that ran past Flint and towards Pickram. It was Billy, and Flint felt a sweet sense of justice when he witnessed the man hitting Pickram squarely in the face before the admiral had time to say anything. The Admiral's limp body fell to the floor.

“Oh god, oh god”, Silver panicked behind him and Flint could feel hands coming to untie the ropes around his wrists. It then dawned on him, how bad he must have looked from behind, the blood still flowing out of the wound caused by the glass.

“I’m fine”, Flint said, gruffly and used his newly freed arms to prop him upright. He was immediately greeted by Silver’s hands coming to frame his face, the man’s deep blue eyes searching for damage.

“Billy, go wait outside in the hallway in case any of his men decide to come check on him”, Flint said, laying one of his hands on top of Silver’s, hoping to ease the man’s worries. Thankfully this was one of the times Billy saw reason with him, and soon he was out of the room, leaving Silver and Flint alone with Pickram’s limp body.

“Dooley told me you’d been captured”, Silver said after the door had closed behind them.

Flint took in Silver’s appearance. There were drops of sweat forming on Silver forehead, and the misty rain outside had made the man’s hair even more curly than it usually appeared. He was panting, the panicked look still residing in Silver’s eyes, but with each breath he seemed to be calming down.

“More or less, yes”, Flint answered, massaging his chafed wrists, “Have to admit it took me a while to realise it.”

“What do you mean?” Silver asked, covering Flint’s hands with his own.

“It’s a long story”, Flint sighed, relishing the feeling of Silver’s fingers gently gliding over his wrists in circular motions.

“Everything with you is”, Silver hummed, lifting his gaze from Flint’s wrists, “How’s your head? It’s bleeding rather impressively”, and with that the man dug out a handkerchief from his pocket.

“Head wounds always look worse than they are”, Flint answered, looking at Silver, who proceeded to press the piece of fabric against Flint’s wound, holding it gently in place. Silver’s blue eyes were back on Flint, staring at him with a serious look. Flint couldn’t resist the urge to bring his hand to cup Silver’s jaw, gliding his thumb across the man’s lower lip and then up to the cheekbones.

“You got me really worried”, Silver said, sounding as breathless as Flint felt.

“Sorry”, Flint apologized.

“Isn’t this a bit embarrassing for fearsome Captain Flint, being taken down by an English officer?” Silver asked, a hint of a smile playing on his face.

“He had the element of surprise on his side”, Flint gave as an explanation. Silver looked at him with such doubt, Flint had no choice but to elaborate on his words.

“I came with him willingly.”

“Beg pardon?”

“He’s an old acquaintance.”

“Oh, so any old friend of yours is ready to watch past the fact that you’re Captain James Flint, the biggest fucking pest in the West Indies?” Silver asked, suddenly outraged, "Have you lost your mind?"

“You’re Captain Flint?”

Both Flint and Silver turned to look at Pickram, as if they had just remembered that the man was in the room with them. They hadn’t heard Pickram waking up, and now in retrospect that probably was a huge overlook on their part. Silver looked at the admiral in disbelief.

“What do you mean?” Silver asked, brow furrowed.

“McGraw? Is it true? You’re Captain Flint?” Pickram inquired and Silver looked even more baffled. The atmosphere of the room took a turn, because Pickram had somehow managed to dig out a handgun from the folds of his jacket, pointing it to Flint.

“Who the fuck’s McGraw?” Silver asked and Pickram’s gun turned on him. It was like a bucket of cold water was being poured down Flint’s back, the fear of seeing Silver so explicitly under threat being suddenly unbearable.

“Him!” Pickram shouted, and once more the gun was aiming at Flint, making the captain relax a little.

“You mean—You didn’t know he was Flint? Then why did you have him tied up in your fucking room?”

“He’s just a little shit, Silver.”

“You’re not telling me something”, Silver turned to stare at Flint, apparently completely unconcerned that they were in the same room with a volatile man holding a gun.

“I’ll tell you later” Flint answered, flustered.

“That’s what you keep saying yet you never fucking tell me a thing! Why not now?”

“Because there is a goddamn gun pointed at you, Silver, please”, Flint appealed, trying to make Silver see reason.

Pickram looked lost, witnessing the exchange between Silver and Flint. The captain felt his hands sweat, as the nervous energy made him slowly lose his composure. The gun was pointing towards Silver’s chest yet the man seemed completely unaware of it, instead regarding Flint with an affronted look.

In the end it only took a slight shift from Silver for Pickram to lose his nerve and fire the gun.

Flint, who had been looking at the admiral with growing concern, saw this happen and without thinking pushed Silver out of the way. Unfortunately, that meant that in a fraction of a second there was a splicing pain in his shoulder, not at all unfamiliar.

“James!” Silver shouted in terror, yet Flint couldn’t respond, air having left his lungs as he collapsed on the floor once more.

Flint had closed his eyes, finding the pain too overwhelming. There were sounds of fighting, but Flint couldn’t make his mind to concentrate on it. When he came to be, he could feel someone next to him, and soon hands were pressing on the wound, undoubtedly trying to stop the bleeding.

Flint had had better days.

“Stay in the hallway and shoot anyone who approaches the room!” Silver growled at Billy who had no doubt re-entered the room after hearing the gun go off.

“James, do you hear me?”

“Yes, unfortunately”, Flint gritted through his teeth, slowly opening his eyes only to be greeted by Silver. He had to stop finding himself on the floor like this.

“Oh, you- I’m going to wrap the wound, so bear with me”, Silver said and Flint closed his eyes once more.

It was an agonizing couple of minutes, during which Flint had plenty of time to regret throwing himself in the way of the bullet, yet being unable to do so. It was a curious feeling, realizing that he was glad that it was him going through this and not Silver.

He listened as John huffed next to him, manhandling his shoulder in the gentlest way possible yet constantly complaining about Flint's uncanny ability to find himself "knee-deep in shit". Silver had always had a very colourful way of using words.

Flint opened his eyes once more. Silver had stopped, and was now sitting on the floor next to him, staring at Flint intently. He smiled when he met Flint’s gaze.

“You took a bullet for me”, Silver observed, a spark in his eyes.

“Oh, fuck off”, Flint muttered and with Silver’s help got up to sit. This wasn’t the first time someone had shot him in the shoulder, nor would it be the last.

Silver let out a laugh, finally relaxing. Flint looked at his shoulder and the wrapping Silver had secured. It was good handiwork, and the wound wasn’t bleeding through the shirt Silver had used as a wrap.

Flint turned to look at Pickram, who was now tied down and gagged, possibly by Silver.

“So, if you for a moment think you’re leaving this room without telling me what the fuck that was about”, Silver didn’t finish, but his raised brow did it for him.

It was really a miracle that it had taken Silver this long to dig this out of Flint.

“My real name is James McGraw—Is, was, don’t really care”, Flint began and Silver listened, concentrating on his every word.

“I used to serve in the British Navy”, it was a confession, yet Silver only huffed in response.

“That’s nothing new”, Silver said, and as Flint gave him an incredulous look, he offered an explanation. “The way you carry yourself is quite distinct to anyone serving in the military.”

“You’re perceptive.”

“Now, why do you sound surprised?” it was more of a statement than a question, and Flint let out a surprised laugh.

“We used to serve together, me and Pickram. Had couple of disagreements”, Flint continued.

“Seems like a delightful man to work with it”, Silver said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Flint let out a long sigh and that was all the answer Silver needed. The man interlaced his fingers with Flint’s, giving the captain a reassuring squeeze. Flint didn’t move his hand for a while, but eventually returned the gesture.

“You’re quite adamant about this, aren’t you?” Flint asked after a while, finally looking at Silver’s face, voice husk and quiet in the empty room.

Silver didn’t need him to elaborate on what he meant.

“I’m not backing away, if that’s what you’re asking. Not when you clearly feel the same. You’re just too much of a chicken shit to reciprocate this.”

Flint was taken by surprise by Silver’s forwardness and found himself laughing in earnest. Silver was smiling, eyes gentle and touches benign. They both reveled in the amicable mood that had taken over the room, despite Pickram’s unconscious body lying tied down next to the table. Truth to be told, the knocked out man did lift Flint's spirits.

“Think you’ll tell me about it someday? About them? The people who were here before me?” Silver asked after a while.

“Yes”, Flint answered, with no hesitation in his voice, “But not today.”

“That’s enough for me. For today.”

Silver got on his knees with a little bit of trouble and situated himself in Flint’s lap, pulling his face closer for a kiss. Flint obliged, with enthusiasm, and separated his hands from Silver’s only to land one of them on his hip and the other one twisted around his unruly curls.

Silver used his newly freed hands pull Flint closer, so that their chests were touching. He let his left hand rest at Flint’s nape moving it up and down in a soothing motion, not minding the blood that was still undeniably there.

“Silver-“, Flint began, but Silver was quick to correct him. “Call me John, please.”

“John”, Flint tried again and this time he received a moan, “John-“, Flint tried the word out, “Mhm, John.”

Silver bit Flints’s lower lip, lapping his tongue over it, then going after Flint’s mouth again with a re-ignited vigor. The kisses were familiar yet different at the same time, the new meaning to them not lost on Flint. His entire body was engulfed in something warm and comfortable, humming in tune with Silver's heartbeats. Silver let one of his hands slide down Flint’s chest and find its way under the shirt. It took a small shift on Flint’s part for Silver to press against the fresh bruises. Flint couldn’t help but let a small noise of pain to escape his lips and that seemed to return Silver back on the ground.

“Shit- are you okay? Of course not”, Silver pushed them gently apart and was about to escape from Flint’s grasp when the captain stopped him. “Don’t you dare”, Flint said, and gave Silver a quick peck, trying to drag him back in.

“As much as I would like to continue this, I have a feeling we have something more important to do”, Silver answered, biting back a moan as Flint went after his neck. He leaned back, letting his hands gently stay on Flint’s abdomen, not fully separating the two of them. Now that they were both allowed to touch, it seemed they were reluctant to let each other go.

“And pray tell what that would be?” Flint asked, not being able to fathom anything more pressing than getting Silver naked and pliant in his hands.

“I know you’re not above revenge, and we still have him to take care of”, Silver smiled and kissed Flint again, “And I can’t believe I have to remind you that you were just shot.”

Flint pulled Silver back against him despite the pain and buried his face in the man’s neck, breathing in the man’s scent. He’d been ridiculous, trying to stay away from this.

“Come on, Captain”, Silver whispered in his ear and stood up, taking a second to find his balance. He then extended his hand to Flint, ready to help him up as well. Flint looked at the hand and grasped it. Rising up was more painful than expected, his battered body not taking kindly to any movement. Silver took notice of this.

“As soon as we’re done here, I’ll take you to Dr. Howell.”

Flint didn’t answer, but walked to Pickram’s body. Silver had knocked the man out, but Flint needed him conscious for what he had to say. So, Flint kicked Pickram’s legs, hoping the swift pain against the shin would be enough.

It was.

“Pickram, old fellow, let me help you”, Flint manhandled Pickram up to a sitting position so that the man could see his face.

“McGraw-“

“No, it’s not McGraw anymore, don’t you remember?”

“F-F-Flint—“

“That’s right. Now, what should we do?”

The look on Pickram’s face was priceless.

“I have couple suggestions, if you need some help”, Silver came to his side, looking down on Pickram.

“Hmh.”

“Please, McGr—Flint. We can talk this out, can we not? We used to be friends!”

Pickram’s appeals made Flint laugh. It felt good to be able to look at this man and just feel superior in every way. No matter where the man had gone in his Navy career, Flint still had the power to inflict fear in him. All the power Pickram held his hands was just superficial, whereas Flint had earned it. Flint had worked for this, Flint had proved himself over and over again. And he would prove himself once more, if Pickram so required.

“Friends, you say?”

Pickram nodded.

“I don’t think so”, Flint said and hit the man square in the face. The punch wasn’t as powerful had Flint been able to punch with his right hand, but alas, the bullet wound on his shoulder stood in the way. The action was still satisfying, and watching the admiral cave in on himself, shielding himself away from Flint, well, it felt good.

“I have his gun, if you need it”, Silver spoke next to Flint.

“No, I got something else in mind.”

 

Flint looked at his handiwork with a sense of pride. Pickram was in front of him, tied and gagged, bruise blooming across his face. Next to Pickram, on his table, Flint had piled papers he and Silver had written, tying Pickram to less than desirable pirate operations the man had nothing to do with in truth. Whether or not it would be enough to get the man to face some severe repercussions, it would at least make the higher officers think twice before trusting Pickram in any capacity ever again. Not to mention the man’s reputation would be ruined.

Also, in his hands Flint now held the book containing the schedules they had been looking for. That felt like the final nail on Pickram's coffin and made the prospect of hunting down English ships that much sweeter. If it were up to Flint, no respectable man in England would be mentioning the name Pickram ever again, unless it was urgently whispered to a neighbour after the Sunday sermon, spreading some scandalous news.

With a final look Flint and Silver left the room, off to meet Billy near the longboat.

 

The Walrus set its course towards Nassau, the crew and Captain having negotiated a 72 hour stay to rest and recuperate, before heading after the merchant ships. Flint had feigned displeasure, allowing the men to feel as if they had won one over their captain. Truth to be told, Flint was really happy himself to spend couple days on shore without the worries that had clouded his most recent visits. Dr. Howell had also expressed his wishes to see the captain rest. 

Flint spent the early morning planning their courses for the upcoming hunts. They needed to know their routes beforehand, so that restocking in Nassau would be easier. There were also couple repairs to take care of, as the Walrus needed to be in top shape. It took better part of the day for Flint to make sure things were in order, so it was nearing dusk when he found himself done for the day. Now he only needed to give DeGroot their course for the night and he could retire and rest his wary bones.

 

It didn’t take long for Silver to find Flint, the quartermaster not even knocking on the door before barging in with a wide smile on his lips. He’d spent the day looking at his captain from a safe distance, letting the nervous energy to build up. Silver needed to lay his hands on Flint once more, to make sure it all hadn’t been a wistful dream.

“I am being praised as your brave rescuer”, Silver said as he took in Flint’s form behind the desk, “There are multiple nicknames on the way. Quite sure this story will spread faster than syphilis through a whorehouse.”

“You paint a lovely image, John”, Flint said and Silver felt a warm feeling blossoming somewhere in his chest. He was not ready to take a closer look at it, not yet.

Silver walked to the other side of the table, finding himself in the same position he’d been in before this debacle had started. He placed his hand on Flint’s good shoulder and Flint rose up and trapped him between his hard body and the table, returning his affections easily. If Silver had been a poet, this would have been the time for him to reflect on what had taken place in the last 12 hours. Instead he found himself wistfully hoping that he'd soon find his and Flint's clothing on the floor, discarded there in the throws of passion.

“You planning on thanking me for my heroic deeds anytime soon?”

“Got something in mind?” Flint asked, landing a kiss on Silver’s neck.

“Maybe”, Silver grinned, not stopping when Flint kissed him on the lips. Flint tried to kiss around the smile, finding it impossible. Flint growled and placed his hand on Silver's crotch, watching gleefully as the smile turned into a heady moan. “That’s better”, Flint murmured, now devouring Silver's lips, “Your smiles make everything more difficult.”

“You’re not one to back down from a challenge.”

“No, I’m not.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading this and hopefully you enjoyed it even a little bit!  
> feel free to leave any comments, constructive or otherwise!


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